


Edgelord

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood Play, Choking, Kissing, Knife Play, M/M, No Lube, Slurs, Threats of Violence, blowjob, throat slitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 01:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16379159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Anti is just such a wannabe edgelord, isn't he?





	Edgelord

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinnamonstache (cinnamon_grump)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_grump/gifts).



Anti was in some kind of mood.

Jack could tell, although he couldn't put his finger on _how_ , exactly, he could tell, but his weird, Other self was stalking through the house, his expression... worrisome. 

If that was the right word for it.

Anti could be a bit like a cat - sweet, metaphorically twining around the ankles one minute, teeth (or knife) dug into your hand in the next moment.

Also, like a habit, his idea of being affectionate was to leave a pile of dead things on your pillow.

Jack had learned to be a bit weary by now.

But Anti was sidling up to him, and oh, but that was a proper sidle - he looked like he should have twirled the mustache he didn't have, or possibly have a big sack over his shoulder, like a burglar in a cartoon.

"Jack," Anti said, with his rough, awkward voice. 

"Anti," Jack said back, keeping his tone neutral.

He was sitting at his kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea, scribbling ideas down in his phone.

"What are you up to, tonight?" 

Anti sat on the table, his feet dangling down, and Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

There was a perfectly good table, right there, but of course Anti had to show just how much of a rebel he was, and scorn all of the chairs. 

Or maybe he just did it to piss people off - Jack knew for a fact that Anti sitting on the table could send Henrik into paroxysms of rage.

Hm.

Anti seemed to be trying to get some kind of rise out of Jack, which meant that Jack had to stay as calm and noncommittal as possible.

"Oh, you know," said Jack. "This and that."

"You should do something with me," said Anti.

"Should I, now?"

Jack kept his mug in his hand, and he took another sip from it, savoring the heat of the tea going down his throat, the sweetness of the sugar. 

He didn't trust Anti not to knock it over "on accident" or to grab it and dump it on Jack's head.

Although that was a little immature, even by Anti's standards.

Still.

"You should," Anti said.

"And why is that?"

"'cause it'd be more interesting than whatever the fuck it is that you're doing," said Anti, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Well," said Jack, "I'm enjoying myself fine right now."

"You're not doing anything _to_ enjoy," Anti insisted. "C'mon."

He was inching closer to Jack, and his rough voice was picking up a high pitched whine, with almost a whistle in the middle of it. 

Jack sneaked a glance at Anti's slit throat - was it gaping more than usual, or was Jack imagining things?

It was still dripping blood down Anti's front, staining the fabric. 

Anti didn't really... make sense, the way that most people made sense, but then again... Anti wasn't real, in the strictest sense.

Neither was Jack, when you came right down to it, except they _were_ real, at the same time. 

They lived in the mind of one Sean McLoughlin, and somehow, through living in that same mind, they'd come alive.

Jack didn't try to think about it too often, because... well.

It doesn't do to contemplate on one's own reality or lack thereof, and he functioned on his own, for the most part.

Maybe that was why Anti was so uncomfortable - seeing the guy move around and... well, exist was a reminder of how not-real everyone and everything was.

Maybe that was one of the reasons why he got so annoyed at Anti.

"C'mon, y'boring cunt, for once in your miserable life do something _interesting_!"

Or maybe Anti was just that much of a pain in the ass.

Jack looked over the rim of his mug at Anti, over the rim of his mug and over the rim of his glasses.

"Can't you go bother someone else?"

He kept his tone mild, tried not to let any annoyance sink into it.

If Anti knew that he was getting under Jack's skin, he'd start doubling down, and that would be equally annoying. 

"You're more fun," said Anti.

"And why would that be?"

"You're the most like him," said Anti.

Jack didn't need to ask which "him" Anti was talking about.

"I'm myself," Jack shot back.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

Anti pulled himself further onto the table, crossing his legs up and onto the tabletop, resting his elbows on his own thighs and looking down his nose at Jack

Jack rolled his eyes.

"What are you expecting me to do?"

"Something that he'd never do," Anti said promptly.

Jack snorted.

He could practically hear the way that Anti was not capitalizing the "h" in "he," and there was something funny about that.

"You're such an edgelord," Jack told Anti. 

"I am not," Anti said, and he looked as mad as a wet cat, which got Jack laughing. 

He couldn't help it!

The petulant scowl, the narrowed eyes, the crossed arms....

"You look like a disaffected mall youth, or some teenage edgelord," Jack said, and he was genuinely pleased with this revelation. 

Anti frowned harder.

"What are you gonna do, start quoting 4chan memes at me? Call me a fag, or draw Pepe the frog on something?"

Okay, so maybe Jack was pushing it, just a bit, but, well....

Anti was, in so many ways, the _idea_ of a creepy character, without any work being put into the mechanics of how a creepy character would work.

But he still walked and talked, waltzing around like he owned the place.

"Fuck you," Anti said.

"This just furthers your edgelord-ness," said Jack, and he tilted his head back to drain his mug, the tea sliding down his throat and settling in his stomach. 

"No matter what I do, you're gonna say that's further proof of this edgelord bullshit you're spouting," Anti said, and Jack had to give him some credit for that.

"How do you figure?"

Jack stood up, made his way to the sink and put his mug in it, rinsing it out, then putting it upside down on the drying rack.

"If I try to argue with you, I'm being defensive about being an edgelord, and no matter what I say, it'll be further proof that you're right," said Anti.

"So are you saying that I am right?"

Jack crossed his arms across his chest, and he leaned back against the counter, enjoying himself in spite of himself. 

"I'm not an edgelord," said Anti, and then he was smiling like something that swims along a river and waits for things to come drink in a drought. "Unless you count knives as edges."

"What, you're lord of the knives?"

Jack snorted.

He was still standing here, though, still talking.

"I might be," said Anti. 

"See, that's prime edgelord bullshit right there," said Jack. "That's the sort of screen name I'd expect to see on some dude who'd tell me off on YouTube for going the good route on _The Walking Dead_ or something similar."

Anti rolled his eyes, and he put his hands behind his head, making his shirt ride up and the cut in his throat widen.

Jack could see... tendons, among other things.

He looked away, as his stomach tried to rise in his throat.

"You're boring," said Anti.

"So why don't you go do something else, instead of boring yourself with me?"

"Because everything else is even more boring," said Anti, then, "he's not using me. For a while yet."

Jack felt something like sympathy - Sean used his persona all the time, and he was alive and kicking. 

If an ego didn't get used that often, well... one could begin to feel cooped up.

Jack could understand the slight panic on the edge of Anti's voice, even if he didn't particularly want to sympathize. 

"You'll get used eventually," said Jack, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

"In the meantime, why don't you keep me company," said Anti, as quick to jump on any perceived vulnerability as ever.

Jack rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you go bother JJ, or Henrik?"

"Henrik threatened to sew my hands together if I kept bothering him," said Anti.

"Did he, now?"

Score one for the doctor.

"Yep," said Anti. "Spill a little acid, you get shouted at by anyone. It was an honest mistake!"

"Of course it was," said Jack. "What about JJ?"

"He doesn't talk to me," said Anti.

"Well, no, he doesn't speak," said Jack. "He signs."

"He doesn't respond when I talk to him, either," groused Anti. "He just makes this big point of ignoring me."

_I'm going to have to take some lessons from him at some point in the future,_ thought Jack, and he bit back his own grin. 

"What about Robbie, or Chase? Marvin?"

"Robbie is fuckin' boring," said Anti, "and anyway, I can't find him."

Jack filed that away for future worries - a zombie wandering around like that was not exactly a thing you wanted to think about too hard. 

"And Chase?"

"Oh god, spare me another whining session from that big daft idiot," Anti groused. "He just whines about how he misses his kids, how mis _er_ able he is. Makes me fuckin' sick."

"Wonder what that's like," Jack said dryly, avoiding looking at Anti's slit throat.

"You're just a pussy," said Anti. 

"Marvin?"

Anti shrugged.

"I like you better," he said.

Jack would have been touched, if it wasn't Anti he was talking to, because... well, Anti liking you wasn't really a _good_ thing, as these things were counted.

Being liked by some kind of demonic entity sorta-kinda wearing your own face that was too happy with a knife was never a good look for anyone, really.

"Well," said Jack.

"Well?"

Anti raised an eyebrow, and he hopped off of the table.

He was barefoot, and his feet slapped on the tile, suddenly loud in the echoing kitchen. 

"Well," said Jack, "I've got other things to do."

Anti was standing close enough that Jack could smell the blood leaking out of him, and it was enough to make him a little queasy.

He licked his lips, and he made to take a step forward, but Anti was still in his way.

He was reminded, absurdly, of playing a video game, when an NPC would stand in front of the way, blocking his ability to do some kind of plot crucial thing.

Wasn't that the latest bit of edgelord slang, anyway?

NPC?

"What are you grinning at?"

Anti was looking straight into Jack's face, making eye contact, and Anti's mismatched eyes looking downright _angry_ , although did they ever look anything else?

"You're making fun of me," Anti said.

"I'm not making fun of you," Jack reassured Anti, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. 

"You are! In your head, you're making fun of me!"

"I'm allowed to have my own thoughts," Jack pointed out.

"You are," said Anti, "but I'm allowed to object to them!"

"How can you object to me having my _own_ thoughts?"

Anti frowned harder, and the petulant cat look increased. 

“We’re almost the same person,” Anti said, and that was a whine, as he crowded closer, until they were chest to chest, and goddamnit, Jack was going to have blood on his shirt.

Fucking Anti.

“Almost is the key word here,” Jack said, and he wriggled out from around Anti, to make his way out of the kitchen.

Only for Anti to press closer to him, chest to back, and Anti’s hot breath was on the back of Jack’s neck, Anti’s hands sliding under the hem of Jack’s shirt to rest on Jack’s belly.

For someone who was sorta-kinda dead, Anti was remarkably warm.

“C’mon, Jack,” Anti said, and he was crooning now, using that voice that he only used when he _really_ wanted something. 

It was like a cat purring especially hard, or a dog whining. 

“Anti,” Jack said, but there wasn’t as much spirit in it as there should have been - Anti’s hands were hot, and they were moving up Jack’s belly, towards Jack’s chest, and then he was just twisting Jack’s nipples, and Jack was squirming, his mouth falling open and his hips rolling back against Anti’s crotch, which was… well.

Well. 

“Jack,” Anti countered. 

Anti was hard - of course Anti was hard.

Was that what had started this whole mess?

“You need to learn to masturbate like the rest of us do,” Jack groused, and then he shuddered as Anti’s fingers twisted his nipples again, Anti’s mouth finding the soft spot on the back of his neck and nibbling on it, sucking on it hard enough to make Anti’s hair stand on end. 

“What are you talking about?”

Anti’s hands grabbed hold of Jack’s pectoral muscles, squeezing hard enough that his fingernails were digging in, and okay, _ow_.

Jack made a protesting noise, and Anti snorted, and bit Jack on the side of the neck, sucking like a vampire.

“I’m going to have to be on camera,” Jack groaned. “You can’t just send me out with hickeys!”

“Why not?”

Anti shoved the neck of Jack’s shirt to the side, and he dug his teeth into the meat of Jack’s shoulder.

His teeth, which somehow seemed longer, thinner, and much, much sharper.

Jack cried out, and he was thrashing against Anti, but Anti held on to him.

“I said, why not,” Anti said, and he was kissing the sore spot on Jack’s shoulder where he’d bitten, in a way that could have been read as loving if someone else had done it.

“Why not what?”

Jack was maneuvering himself towards a wall, Anti still plastered to his back.

He leaned against the wall, his forehead against it, and he shuddered as Anti bit him again, a little harder this time.

“Why not have hickeys on camera?”

“People will… people will think things about me,” Jack said, and his voice was thick.

“What kind of things?”

The blood from Anti’s slit throat was leaking into the back of Jack’s shirt, and Anti’s tongue was rasping at Jack’s neck, right over Jack’s pulse point.

There was a brief moment of terror, as Jack remembered those sharp teeth, but then Anti just pressed a gentle kiss to it, and pressed closer, as if that was possible.

Anti’s cock was hard in his tight jeans, and he was grinding it up against Jack’s ass.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he said, right in Jack’s ear.

“Y’know, it’d help if you had lube,” said Jack, more for the sake of his ass than anything else.

“Blood is the best lube,” Anti fired back.

Jack rolled his eyes, suddenly fed up, and he turned around, grabbing Anti’s shoulder in one hand, the back of Anti’s head in the other.

Anti looked at him with a slightly shocked expression.

“You are such a fucking edgelord,” Jack told Anti, and then he kissed Anti, his fingers tangling in Anti’s hair, pressing Anti into the wall.

Anti… well, Anti didn’t taste too good.

His mouth tasted like old blood, and a little bit like stomach acid (why stomach acid?), and there was an… oddness about the suction of it, because of the slit throat.

Jack tried not to think about it too hard.

It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed Anti, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Anti was an aggressive kisser, his tongue in Jack’s mouth, his fingernails digging into Jack’s scalp, and that was… well, it was more than a little bit uncomfortable, but Jack moaned and arched his back, because sometimes any kind of stimulation is good stimulation, and he was beginning to approach the “too needy to think” stage of proceedings, which were embarrassing, but that was a problem for future Jack.

Then there was something cold against the back of his neck, and he froze.

“What’s the matter, bucko?”

Anti’s voice was cheerful, and his speech brought little puffs of air across Jack’s mouth. “Don’t like my knife?”

“Where were you even _keeping_ that thing?”

“A man has to have his secrets,” Anti said, as he grabbed Jack by the front of the shirt, using his own body weight to shove Jack’s back into the wall. 

“Do you count as a man?”

It popped out of Jack’s mouth before he had time to think.

Anti’s brows narrowed, and he frowned.

“Do you,” he fired back.

“Well,” said Jack, and goddamn it, but he was in enough of a haze that he was actually thinking about this, instead of shoving it off, “I think I am, so I guess I am.”

“How very Descartes of you,” Anti said, and then he was grabbing the hem of Jack’s shirt in one hand, pulling it taut. The other hand had the knife, and he was… shoving the blade up, pulling it up towards Jack’s chin, and okay, no, that was… that was pretty fucking terrifying.

The tip of the knife was glancing along Jack’s belly and chest, leaving behind a long, uneven cut.

It stung more than anything else, and Jack winced.

“I _like_ this shirt,” Jack groused, as Anti did some kind of complicated wrist maneuver to pull tear the collar, until the whole thing was hanging open on Jack like an unbuttoned button down. 

“Tough shit,” said Anti, and then… oh, fuck, his hand was going around Jack’s throat, and Anti had Jack’s same big hands - had _Sean’s_ same big hands - and the one around his throat was beginning to squeeze, hard enough that Jack shuddered, pressure beginning to build behind his eyes.

He was trying to keep track of the knife, but the cold metal was beginning to warm up, which made it difficult to keep track of it.

It was, as far as he could tell, tracing along his sides, the tip occasionally pausing to press between his ribs, and that was enough to make him freeze up, except he was also being choked, and the throbbing in his head was directly connected to the throbbing in his dick.

Then Anti let go of his throat, and he took a deep, gasping breath, shaking, and he met Anti’s eyes.

Anti looked smug, the bastard.

Of course he did.

“How’s that?”

“It’s fine,” Jack said, and fuck, his voice was rough.

Of course it was.

Anti was going to mark him up, ruin his voice… Jack might even have to delay his next video.

(How he did videos when it was technically Sean doing the videos was its own complicated metaphysical can of worms that he didn’t want to poke too hard, because his head might start hurting if he thought about it too hard.) 

“Good,” said Anti, and then he was pressing the flat of the blade right up against the length of Jack’s dick, and Jack’s dick tried to twitch, because Anti was choking him again, and his heart was beating so fast in his ears that he couldn’t hear whatever it was that Anti was saying.

It probably wasn’t important anyway - Anti was always muttering stuff.

Or maybe Jack was just floating away on a whole sea of endorphins, but he was _so_ worked up.

When had he even had a chance to _get_ this horny?

He tried to swallow around the hand squeezing his throat, and Anti moaned, and then Anti was… shoving the knife under the waistband of Jack’s jeans, and that was cutting into Jack’s skin, that was cutting into Jack’s skin more than was strictly comfortable.

Jack bled - the blood was running out of the cut on his belly, soaking into his boxers.

Anti was trying to repeat the maneuver that he’d used on Jack’s shirt, but all he was really succeeding in doing was cutting Jack’s lower belly up some more.

“Denim doesn’t cut easy, dumbass,” Jack croaked, his voice a whistling, wheezing mess.

“Well, I _told_ you to undo your belt,” said Anti.

He gave Jack’s throat another, extra hard squeeze, and then he let go.

Jack took a few deep, gasping breaths - his throat was on its way to bruised already.

“You’re going to do serious damage to me,” he groused.

“Schneep’ll fix it,” said Anti, his tone dismissive.

His eyes were glued to Jack’s hand, as Jack undid his belt, shoved his pants down, but kept his bloody, tacky boxers on.

“I could cut your dick off,” Anti said suddenly, and he was holding the edge of the knife against the base of Jack’s cock.

The metal was cold, even through the cotton of Jack’s boxers.

“You could do that,” said Jack, his voice rough and something like nervous. 

He had to stay calm right now - that was the important part.

“So you’re giving me permission to cut your dick off? What kinda sicko pervert are you?”

Anti looked delighted.

“I’m not giving you permission to cut my dick off,” Jack said quickly. “I’m saying that it is a thing that _can_ be done. You could also walk away and learn to paint or some shit, or you could drop the knife and do this like a normal person.”

“Why do anything like a normal person?”

Anti drew the tip of the knife along the length of Jack’s cock, and the sharpness made Jack freeze, his heart thundering in his throat.

And then Anti just… dropped onto his knees, sliding the edge of the knife into the leg of Jack’s boxers, then pulling up and towards himself, ripping the boxers.

Jack’s cock sprang forward, and the ragged fabric of the boxers was draped across his erection, but no longer containing it.

“Why must you ruin all of my clothes?”

The cuts on Jack’s belly were stinging, and they were throbbing.

Anti leaned forward, as if he was going to suck Jack’s cock, but instead he was licking at the cuts, which was… unpleasant - it stung even more.

He squirmed, and his cock twitched like a tuning fork against his own thigh.

Anti’s tongue was longer than it probably should have been - was Anti able to shapeshift?

Jack was beginning to wonder about that.

Anti looked up at Jack, making eye contact, and he stuck his tongue out, the kind of shot that you’d see in a POV porno, where the person giving a blowjob dutifully shows the load they just took into their mouth.

Only it was Jack’s blood this time, and Jack’s stomach did a weird little lurch, but his cock twitched at the same time.

“Fuckin’ pervert,” Anti said, with his bloody lips and equally bloody tongue.

Jack shrugged.

“You set up the scenario where this would happen in the first place,” he pointed out. “So what right do you have to call me a pervert?”

“Every fuckin’ right,” said Anti, “‘cause I wanna.”

He bit Jack on the hip, and those sharp teeth of his sank in deep enough that Jack’s knees trembled, his head jerking back to hit the wall, and the “clunk” of that was enough to make his head spin.

“That’s not… a good argument,” Jack mumbled, and then he sighed, as Anti held the knife in one hand, using that same hand to grab the backs of Jack’s thighs.

Jack’s thighs, which were getting cut up - the knife was sinking into him in ways he didn’t want to think about too hard, except now his hips were being pulled forward, and Anti’s mouth was on his cock.

Anti gave intimidating blowjobs - Jack knew this, had experienced it.

He knew, logically, that Anti wouldn’t bite his cock off.

What would Anti _get_ out of biting his cock off? 

Anti liked Jack’s cock - liked riding it, liked sucking it, liked turning Jack into incoherent mush with it.

But then again, Anti was a capricious creature, and the knife was doing unpleasant things to Jack’s thighs - Jack wasn’t too pleased with that.

He wasn’t being stabbed… per se. 

The tip of the knife would occasionally slip into him, but mainly he was just being sliced up.

“Anti, the knife,” Jack mumbled, and then he swore, because Anti’s hot, wet mouth was _all_ around his cock, and Jack was going right down Anti’s throat.

Anti’s tongue was long, and Jack could just barely feel the little breath of air from the slit in Anti’s throat - if Jack looked down, would he be able to see his cock emerging from that same slit spot?

… Jack’s cock shouldn’t have twitched as hard as it did at that idea, come to think of it.

God, he was sick.

Then the knife was being drawn along his leg, and he gasped, and then he sobbed, because he was starting to shake. 

“Anti,” Jack gasped, “I need my legs. I need….”

Anti pulled off of Jack, and he looked up, licking his lips with his ridiculously long tongue.

… yeah, no, it was longer this time. 

“What do you need, Jack?”

Anti wrapped his fingers around Jack’s shaft, his thumb pressed against the shaft, beginning to stroke in earnest. 

“I need….” 

Jack trailed off, because… oh god, now Anti was keeping eye contact, and he was licking the very tip of Anti’s cock, using one hand to push Jack’s foreskin back, the tip of his tongue jabbing at the slit at the end of Jack’s cock.

Jack groaned.

He was bleeding - from his leg, from his thighs, from his belly.

It was another sign that he wasn’t… entirely human, in the strictest sense of the word, because, well, how else would he have kept his cock this hard, while he was bleeding so much?

How was he staying conscious?

Things were starting to go a little bit fuzzy around the edges, and his head was starting to feel a bit like it was floating, but he was… fine.

And then Anti abruptly pulled him back, spun him around, and now Jack’s face was pressed into the wall, his nose against the stone.

He was shaking, and then he was _howling_ , beating the wall with his fists as Anti’s tongue rasped across the cuts, and that was too much, that was stinging, burning pain, and Jack was full on bellowing, his cock bobbing with each wriggle he gave, drooling down his shaft, falling down onto the floor in strings. 

Anti held his ass open with both hands, and he seemed to have dropped the knife (thank fuck), and then Anti’s ridiculously long tongue was inside of Jack’s ass, and Jack was grinding back against it in spite of himself.

He was past the point of no return at this point, shameless and horny to the point that he wasn’t thinking.

Anti’s tongue was just so _long_ , and it was finding things inside of Jack that Jack hadn’t even known about, and Jack was bellowing and moaning as he was tongued open.

And then the knife was back - somehow, Anti had it in him to eat ass and do things with a knife at the same time.

Of fucking course he had it in him.

Jack shuddered, and his toes curled.

He was going to cum soon, although maybe some of that was from the stimulation, or maybe the light headedness of all the blood loss, all the… everything.

Anti pulled back, and he bit Jack right on the ass, which was enough to make Jack yelp, his hips jerking back.

“I’m gonna make you cum on my cock,” said Anti, and he was standing up, grinding himself against Jack’s back.

“You don’t have any lube,” Jack pointed out.

“I ate you out. Close enough,” said Anti.

Something hot and blunt and damp was pressing against one of the cheeks of Jack’s ass, and Jack sighed, a whole body sigh.

“You’re horrible at this,” he told Anti.

Anti drew the knife across Jack’s chest, leaving a long, deep gash, and Jack cried out, as blood began to run down his chest, onto his belly.

Anti’s other hand moved to Jack’s cock, squeezing it.

“This doesn’t seem to be complaining,” he said, and he was speaking right into Jack’s ear, his breath hot, his tongue darting out to lick behind Jack’s ear.

Jack groaned, and the pain and the pleasure were blending together.

The cut was throbbing in time with his heart.

“I’m going to need stitches,” he said, and his voice was coming in rough little hitches.

“Schneep can fix you up,” Anti said. “Hold yourself open for me.”

“Can’t you do that?”

“My hands are full,” said Anti, and he drew the knife across Jack’s chest again, under the big gash.

This cut was shallower, but still bled.

The blood was getting on Jack’s cock, and it was hot.

“Fine,” said Jack, and he reached back, carefully, holding his ass open.

He shouldn’t have been agreeing to this - shouldn’t have been doing _any_ of this, but… oh god, there was Anti’s cock, sliding into him.

It wasn’t entirely an easy slide - he wasn’t prepped, and there wasn’t enough lube.

But, well, he’d done worse, and his ass could take it.

Anti’s cock was so _hot_ as it breached him, hot and solid, filling Jack’s ass up.

He slid himself all the way in, until the prickly hair at the base of his cock was up against Jack’s ass, and Jack clenched around Anti’s cock.

“Fuck, you’re such a tight little fuck,” Anti hissed, right in Jack’s ear, and Jack rolled his eyes, even as far gone as he was.

The blood was smearing across the wall, and that was going to be a pain and a half to clean up, but… well, it could be dealt with.

The knife was against Jack’s throat now, pressing down, and when Anti began to thrust, little cuts opened up along Jack’s throat. 

Oh _fuck_ , Jack was terrified, Jack was horny, Jack was… Jack was clenching around Anti, Jack was thrusting back against it, and Jack’s hands were flat on the wall, Jack was bent over.

Anti’s hand was on Jack’s cock, Anti was jerking Jack off now, and Jack was humping into it, somehow already on his way to orgasm.

He wished he could sweat, although then again, bringing more bodily fluids into the game was probably a bad idea.

“Jack,” Anti said, right in his ear, “Jack, you can’t die. You can’t. You’re not going to.”

“It can still suck,” Jack said, and his voice was rough, humping back against Anti’s cock. 

Anti’s chest was hot against his own, and Anti’s blood was mingling with his own - it was like some kind of childhood pact, mingling blood together.

And then there was a hot, white line across his throat, and it stung more than it hurt, and then it _hurt_ , and it was a spray, as Jack’s blood sprayed out of his cut throat, and cum spurted out of his cock. 

He blacked out, his body wracked by pain and pleasure, all intertwined.

The last thing he was aware of was Anti’s cock flooding him with cum, and then… nothing.

* * *

Jack woke up in his hallway, completely healed.

Also completely naked, apart from his shredded clothes.

There was a bloody stain on the wall.

“You could’ve at least cleaned up,” he grumbled, and he stood up slowly, stretching.

He was stiff, but none the worse for wear.

Still.

He’d have to yell at Anti about this at some point in the near future. 

That wasn’t cool.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


End file.
